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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27327271">You Said Go Slow (I Fall Behind)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackUnicorn/pseuds/BlackUnicorn'>BlackUnicorn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Not Oblivious (Good Omens), Aziraphale is Patient (Good Omens), Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is Whipped (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gentle Kissing, Getting Together, Healing, Kinda, Love Confessions, M/M, Other, Post-Canon, Recovery, Scared Crowley (Good Omens), Soft Aziraphale (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), They dont say it but..., Tired Crowley (Good Omens), Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens), this is soft</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 22:41:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,368</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27327271</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackUnicorn/pseuds/BlackUnicorn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Further up, still, half-hidden by the branches of the trees and the leaves of the hedges, stood a cottage. It looked like any other cottage, really, with a thatched roof and a fainted paintjob and a garden out back. However, anyone who took a closer look would agree that this particular cottage was, in fact, quite extraordinary – the roses ranking up the stone arch in the front bloomed more lustrous than any roses ever seen on earth, the car in the driveway was almost antique and yet looked like it had rolled out of the factory no longer than a few weeks ago, the shelves inside held more books than should be physically possible, and the Mona Lisa sketch in the hallway was said to have been signed by dear old Leo himself.</em>
  <br/>
  <em>And there, in the first-floor bedroom, covered by piles of duvets and blankets, lay the Demon Crowley, alone, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling from behind his sunglasses, waiting for dawn.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p>Sometimes healing and moving on is the hardest part.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>108</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>You Said Go Slow (I Fall Behind)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sea was crashing against the white cliffs of the English South coast, the roaring of the waves going unheard as if they weren’t there at all.</p>
<p>Further up, across fields of green and the valleys of the countryside, lay a village. Small and sleepy in its picturesque rural charm, where the shops closed early and the pubs stayed open late, where the children played down by the stream and the mothers complained about the mud trails in the hallway, where the church was always empty safe for the occasional Sunday when the elderly accustomed themselves with the graveyard they would soon call their new home. Where nothing ever happened, and the latest gossip involved Mrs. Richard’s risqué make-up choices.</p>
<p>Further up, still, half-hidden by the branches of the trees and the leaves of the hedges, stood a cottage. It looked like any other cottage, really, with a thatched roof and a fainted paintjob and a garden out back. However, anyone who took a closer look would agree that this particular cottage was, in fact, quite extraordinary – the roses ranking up the stone arch in the front bloomed more lustrous than any roses ever seen on earth, the car in the driveway was almost antique and yet looked like it had rolled out of the factory no longer than a few weeks ago, the shelves inside held more books than should be physically possible, and the Mona Lisa sketch in the hallway was said to have been signed by dear old Leo himself.</p>
<p>And there, in the first-floor bedroom, covered by piles of duvets and blankets, lay the Demon Crowley, alone, staring unblinkingly at the ceiling from behind his sunglasses, waiting for dawn.</p>
<p>He’d been waiting all night, to be honest. All night, every night, for the past week; ever since he and Aziraphale had moved in.</p>
<p>Sleep, Crowley found, no longer brought the solace it used to. Instead he dreamed. He dreamed of the thunderous sound of fire and the scorching heat of the flames. He dreamed of cold, purple eyes, and words filled with malice. He dreamed of hoarse voices whispering in his ear, and eyes watching his every move.</p>
<p>So Crowley waited.</p>
<p>Downstairs, he knew, Aziraphale was sitting in his armchair, lost in a book, not paying any mind to the world around him while next to him a cup of cocoa stood, forgotten and cold, as time passed him by unnoticed.</p>
<p>Aziraphale had been the one to suggest this – <em>a change of scenery, my dear</em>, he’d said while they’d shared a bottle of wine or three, <em>to get our minds off things</em>. And Crowley had agreed. Of course he’d agreed. Armageddon had come and gone and the world was still turning. The end was no longer nigh but in the past. The game had restarted.</p>
<p>And Crowley waited.</p>
<p>Days had turned into weeks, had turned into months, but still no sign, no whisper, no word from Above or Below.</p>
<p>But for how long?</p>
<p>A year? Ten? A hundred?</p>
<p>A blink of an eye in the face of eternity.</p>
<p>And so Crowley waited.</p>
<p>And waited.</p>
<p>And waited.</p>
<p>The golden hue of dawn slowly crept over the fields and the valleys, getting caught in the treetops, before reaching the cottage and peering through the window into the bedroom; onto the bed.</p>
<p>Albert Einstein said that time was relative. Clever human, that one had been. Though Crowley doubted that he had truly understood just how relative, how, if you just had enough of it, time could slip away from you. The fear of thinking you were running out.</p>
<p>In the distance, the cry of a rooster sounded through the morning air, which Crowley took as a sign to push himself up into a sitting position. No use staying in bed all day.</p>
<p>The house was silent. The floorboards didn’t dare creak, not when Crowley walked upon them. Neither did the doors, for that matter. Downstairs, the light fell brightly through the lacy curtains of the kitchen windows, into the hallway, all the way to the living room where Aziraphale was, indeed, reading in his armchair, the lamp next to him still burning.</p>
<p>There was no TV in the house, no radio, no way for Below to contact them. To spy on them. Even Crowley’s phone was switched off most of the time these days, even though he doubted they’d know how to use such modern technology.</p>
<p>Crowley went into the kitchen to make some tea, his eyes wandering towards the window. The sky was clear and blue, the birds chirping happily from up in the trees, the leaves slowly turning from green to red to brown.</p>
<p>Back in the living room, he could hear Aziraphale move – no doubt marking his page before carefully setting the book down to join Crowley in the kitchen.</p>
<p>“Good morning, my dear.”</p>
<p>“Mornin’, angel.”</p>
<p>“Did you sleep well?” Aziraphale asked softly.</p>
<p>Crowley didn’t turn around. Couldn’t. Not yet. He didn’t have to, anyway, to know the look Aziraphale was giving him – open, more open than ever before in the 6000 years they’d known each other, and a smile on his face.</p>
<p>“Yep,” Crowley answered quickly, glad he didn’t have to elaborate when in that moment the kettle clicked. He poured the hot water into the waiting mugs, one plain black, the other angel-winged – a gift from Crowley many years ago</p>
<p>“Did you have any plans for the day?” Aziraphale asked, stepping closer until he stood next to Crowley who turned around to lean his back against the counter, mug cradled against his chest, and still not looking at Aziraphale.</p>
<p>“Not really.”</p>
<p>“Well, in that case,” Aziraphale began, taking his own tea, “How about a trip down to the coast? It is such a lovely day, after all.”</p>
<p><em>Anything you want, angel</em>, Crowley thought, but didn’t say.</p>
<p>In his mind he could see them walk down the narrow roads of the coastal town, past cosy little tearooms and bookshops and barbers, the air clean and crisp, filled with the scent of the sea, a brisk breeze blowing through their hair, making Crowley shiver while Azirapahle would nag him for not wearing a thicker jacket. He was good at that, nagging. They were close, in Crowley’s mind, their hands and arms brushing, sending little shocks through Crowley’s system, like electricity, and it wouldn’t take much to reach out but of course neither would. They never did.</p>
<p>“Crowley?”</p>
<p>“Sure,” he answered, forcing himself back into reality, “Sounds good.”</p>
<p>He dared a sideway glance at the Angel. Aziraphale was watching him. He was always watching him these days. There was a question in his eyes. An uncertainty. All but hidden behind his smile but undeniably there. Lurking. Crowley could see it, though he wasn’t quite sure what it meant.</p>
<p>“Splendid!” The question was gone, leaving not a trace behind. “Now, I’m feeling quite peckish,” Aziraphale continued, patting his belly, “What about you, dear? Breakfast?”</p>
<p>Crowley shook his head. He’d never really been one for food. Not like Aziraphale, anyway.</p>
<p>“You sit down,” he told the Angel, “I’ll whip something up.”</p>
<p>He’d never really been one for food, but that hadn’t stopped him from observing the art of making it from the very start, hadn’t stopped him from spending hours upon hours in his kitchen practicing, hadn’t stopped him from mastering all of Aziraphale’s favourites. Just in case.</p>
<p>Aziraphale gave him a smile, small and soft and knowing, before doing as Crowley had said, sitting down at the sturdy, wooden table by the window.</p>
<p>“Thank you, my dear.”</p>
<p>“Don’t.”</p>
<p>They didn’t thank each other. It wasn’t done. Never speak, never acknowledge, never name – except they could, couldn’t they? Now, they could.</p>
<p>Aziraphale didn’t react to Crowley’s sharp tone, to the darkness spilling out from within, casting shadows on his face, didn’t react to the eyes quickly sweeping the room in search of threats, before remembering –</p>
<p>Home.</p>
<p>He was home.</p>
<p>He was home and they were safe.</p>
<p>Two months had passed, the summer was over, the world still turning.</p>
<p>The blink of an eye.</p>
<p>Shutting out all other thoughts, Crowley turned his mind towards making breakfast and opened the fridge, Aziraphale’s eyes still resting on his back like a warm blanket wrapped around his shoulders while outside the sun steadily climbed up, up, up, higher up the sky, and the birds sang, and the waves crashed against the white cliffs of the English South coast.</p><hr/>
<p>Crowley had parked the Bentley across three spaces on the empty car park in the centre of the little coastal town some ten miles from their cottage. The yearly summer tourist wave was long gone, leaving the town to its sleepy everyday routine as the wind blew cold and harsh through its narrow roads and alleys.</p>
<p>Crowley could taste the salt of the sea on his tongue, mixed together with the scents of the cafes and bakeries they passed by as they walked side by side, the empty spaces between them a gaping abyss, and yet close enough to let everyone know they were walking together. Not that there was anyone around to see.</p>
<p>6000 years was a long time to know someone – The way Aziraphale clasped his hands in front of his stomach when he was anxious, the way his arms hung loosely at his side when he wasn’t, the way his eyes smiled. Crowley had long since learned to keep his steps small when they walked together. To go slow. To halt when Aziraphale wanted to gaze lovingly into shop windows.</p>
<p>“We’ll stop in on our way back,” Crowley proposed at what must have been a particularly tempting display at a little café, “My treat.”</p>
<p>The way Aziraphale’s face lit up as he stepped closer, their elbows gracing each other, just for a second, just long enough for Crowley’s heart – his useless, foolish, human heart – to stop beating in his chest. And then it was gone and they moved together, further down the alley towards the shore.</p>
<p>The beach was empty. The pebbles crunched underneath their feet. The water slowly climbed higher and higher with every wave as the tide came back in.</p>
<p>An unstoppable, violent force of nature, the sea.</p>
<p>A cruel mistress.</p>
<p>People used to worship her as they worshipped the Almighty, praying for fair weather and calm waters.</p>
<p>Crowley remembered the Arch. Remembered the rain, cold and endless, coming down from the darkened skies, filling up the valleys, drowning everything under its weight. He remembered the cries of the people left behind, despair and sorrow and anger, and he remembered the five children hidden under deck, tucked away underneath straw and hay. It was all he’d managed to save. And he remembered the After. The white dove against the clearing clouds. The rainbow, bright and colourful and cruel. The waters receding, revealing the ruins of homes and dreams. A baby dangling from a tree like a rife fruit in autumn. She took and took and took, not knowing the meaning of mercy. She’d take this island too, one day, biting away at the land piece by piece until there was nothing left but memories, and even they would fade with time.</p>
<p>A cruel mistress, indeed.</p>
<p>Crowley shivered at the cold, or perhaps his own thoughts, the sharp bite of the breeze cutting into his flesh, the empty beach stretching out in front of them, the violence of the sea to their left, the hollow spaces between them, like a black hole. A wall, built over millennia, each <em>you are a Demon</em>, each <em>I am an Angel</em>, each <em>we’re on different sides</em> a brick, sturdy and thick and durable, one on top of the other, stacked up high until they could not see each other any longer.</p>
<p>And then there was Aziraphale. Soft and warm and kind Aziraphale. Right there. So close, it wouldn’t take much to reach out to hold, to touch, to – but they didn’t. They never did.</p>
<p>So close.</p>
<p>So far away.</p>
<p>The silence, like the beach and the sea and the distance between them, stretched out, wide and cold and empty.</p>
<p>Crowley didn’t like the cold. Never had. Not since –</p>
<p>Hell was cold. Cold and damp and mouldy. Just where humans had gotten the idea of fiery pits from, Crowley didn’t know. It was far from the real thing, with its stifling air of overcrowded hallways, its sticky floors, its noise – oh dear Someone, the <em>noise</em>…</p>
<p>Heaven was cold, too…</p>
<p>6000 years was a long time to know someone. Sometimes, Crowley wondered what would have happened, had things gone differently, had the story not begun back in the Garden, with the Apple and the Snake and the Angel – their history, erased. Sometimes he wondered who he would be without Aziraphale. Who Aziraphale would be without him. Their beings, their very essences, had merged to the point of being indistinguishable. Inseparable.</p>
<p>
  <em>Our side.</em>
</p>
<p>“Crowley.”</p>
<p>Crowley blinked and looked around. He must have stopped walking, standing in the middle of the deserted beach, the ocean lapping at the tips of his shoes, and Aziraphale standing a few paces away, a frown on his face.</p>
<p>“Yes, angel?”</p>
<p>“Why don’t we –” Slowly, Aziraphale stepped closer, reaching out, laying a hand on Crowley’s arm, just like that, as if it was nothing. “—Why don’t we go back and find a place to warm up?”</p>
<p>Crowley nodded. The hand on his arm was soft and warm, steadily pulling him away from the sea and beach, the cold and empty spaces threatening to swallow him whole, the barren wasteland stretching out between them getting smaller and smaller as Aziraphale linked their arms together, as they walked back through the narrow streets of the town, back to the café Aziraphale had ogled not too long ago.</p>
<p>The café was warm too.</p>
<p>A cosy little room full of rickety wooden chairs and tables, the air smelling of coffee and cake, the walls decorated with pictures of little kittens. Crowley watched from the corner of his eye as Aziraphale stood at the counter, contemplating the baked goods on display, chatting amiably to the boy behind it, while Crowley sprawled out at a table in the back. There was an elderly couple sitting by the window, a man in blue overalls at the next table over.</p>
<p> “This is quite lovely,” Aziraphale commented, sitting down across from Crowley, a content smile on his face, and yet Crowley thought he could see a shadow there, lurking just underneath, a concern written into the lines around his eyes as he looked at Crowley, “I am glad we came out here.”</p>
<p><em>Anything for you, angel</em>, Crowley thought</p>
<p>“Nothing better to do,” Crowley said.</p>
<p>A sound escaped Aziraphale, almost like a sigh, and he shifted in his chair, bringing their knees together underneath the table, the touch making Crowley shiver ever so slightly.</p>
<p>“I am glad we came out here,” Aziraphale repeated, his tone different, more insistent, “Together.”</p>
<p>
  <em>Our side.</em>
</p>
<p>The wall, so carefully built up over the years, was crumbling, Crowley realised, the bricks worn down, the mortar frail and brittle, the distance slowly fading away.</p>
<p>Their legs were still touching, a steady pressure, grounding and warm and <em>good</em>. Just like Aziraphale.</p>
<p>“Together,” Crowley muttered under his breath, almost inaudible. He wasn’t even sure if Aziraphale had heard him as in that moment the kid from behind the counter came over with their drinks and Aziraphale’s cake.</p>
<p>“Thank you,” Aziraphale said, though his eyes were fixed on Crowley.</p>
<p>“Enjoy,” the kid said, setting everything down before leaving again.</p>
<p>Crowley lowered his gaze to the table. A pot of tea and a slice of Lemon Meringue Pie</p>
<p>Taking a deep breath, Crowley pressed his leg harder against Aziraphale’s, while his hands sorted out the mugs and started pouring the tea. Black, no sugar, for Aziraphale. White, two sugars, for him.</p>
<p>The café was warm and Aziraphale’s smile soft as he took his first bite of the pie, nagging Crowley until he gave in and allowed Aziraphale to feed him some as well, the tangy flavour of lemons and the sweetness of the meringue melting together on his tongue, and outside the wind blew cold through the streets and alleys down to the beach and over the wide and empty sea.</p><hr/>
<p>It was dark outside, the stars above burning in peaceful oblivion, lightyears away, not caring for the world below them, the eyes watching them; and there, on that world below, behind the cottage in the English countryside, Crowley and Aziraphale were sitting in their garden, steadily drinking their way through their wine supply, looking up at the stars.</p>
<p>Something was different. Crowley couldn’t quite put his finger on <em>what</em> but it was there, an undeniable tension lingering in the air between them. It wasn’t a comfortable silence. Crowley could feel Aziraphale’s eyes straying over to him over and over and over again but neither spoke. Instead they merely passed the bottle back and forth until it was empty and they moved on to the next one, and above them the stars burned peacefully.</p>
<p>Taking another swig from the bottle, his vision going blurry around the edges, Crowley let his head fall back, staring up at the sky.</p>
<p>He missed them, sometimes. The stars. Being among them, being one of them. Crowley remembered their light when they’d still been new, remembered their beauty. The sky looked different now, millennia passing by had changed its shapes, the rise of cities dimmed its brightness.</p>
<p>People used to worship the stars too, once upon a time.</p>
<p>“D’you ‘member Eden?” It took Crowley a moment to realise that the words had come from him.</p>
<p>“How could I forget, my dear?”</p>
<p>“Wasss’e firs’ time I saw ‘em from afar,” Crowley continued, not actually knowing where he was going with this, “The ssstars.” He let his head loll forward, accepting the wine bottle Aziraphale was holding out to him. “Can’t see ‘em down in Hell,” he muttered around the neck of the bottle, “Can’t see anythin’ down there.”</p>
<p>“They are beautiful,” Aziraphale said, his voice full of awe and wonder, his eyes fixed on Crowley.</p>
<p>“They are, aren’t they?” Crowley said, turning his head to meet the Angel’s gaze.</p>
<p>“Crowley?”</p>
<p>“Hmm?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale was silent, sitting perfectly still as he considered Crowley with beautifully blue eyes. “I know you don’t sleep,” he said eventually, carefully, as if he was afraid the wrong word might scare Crowley off, “I know you’re not happy.”</p>
<p>Crowley winced, looking away, back up at the sky and the stars and the infinite space looming over their heads. “Aziraphale, I –” But what could he possibly say that wasn’t a lie? He didn’t do that. Not to his Angel.</p>
<p>“I,” Aziraphale began, drawing in a breath, “I suggested coming here, thinking that it might help us. Both of us,” he explained, “I still think that, mind you, however – however I feel like I might have been – like I might have been overenthusiastic. Overconfident.” Aziraphale breathed out. “We both need time, I think,” he continued, “To – to heal. I just wish…” he trailed off then, still breathing, still barely moving, still <em>looking</em>.</p>
<p>“What?” Crowley forced himself to turn his head back, to meet Aziraphale’s gaze, to hold it. He felt uncomfortably sober, all of a sudden, the wine purged from his system without him even noticing it had happened.</p>
<p>“I just wish we could do it together,” Aziraphale finished, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly, while his eyes remained guarded. Doubtful. “Let me help you, Crowley,” he added, “Let me save you for once.”</p>
<p><em>Oh, angel. </em>Despite the doubt, there was still hope there in his beautiful pale, blue eyes and that beautiful half-smile on his lips. <em>You’ve been saving me from the start</em>.</p>
<p>Crowley eyes burned suspiciously as he reached up and, for the first time in weeks, took off his sunglasses. “You’re right,” he muttered, “I don’t sleep.” His voice sounded rough, foreign. “Every time I close my eyes, I see the bookshop in flames, I see you dying in a column of Hellfire, I feel Them breathing down my neck again. Watching me. Watching us.” He was shaking, Crowley realised, his voice breaking, and his heart pounding frantically in his chest. “But you’re also wrong,” he pushed on, taking a steadying breath, “I am happy.” <em>I will be</em>. <em>I want to be</em>. “I want to be here, angel. Don’t think that I don’t.”</p>
<p>The half-smile, like a tender bud in early spring, was beginning to bloom now, growing petals, rich and colourful, as it blossomed into a real smile, a full smile, bright and blinding.</p>
<p>“I know you do, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, reaching out, bridging the distance between them until his hand rested atop Crowley’s, the touch light and gentle, “You wouldn’t have come otherwise.”</p>
<p>“Aziraphale – angel, I –” <em>I would have gone anywhere with you</em>. “—I want to be here,” Crowley said again, “With you.” There. That part was important. “But you already knew that,” he added, his own lips twisting and turning until they had morphed into a teasing smile of their own, “If you’d thought, even for a second, that I’d say no, you wouldn’t have asked.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale blushed at the words, lowering his gaze to where their hands connected.</p>
<p>“I was never as brave as you, I’m afraid.”</p>
<p>Crowley frowned. It didn’t sound right.</p>
<p><em>Brave</em>.</p>
<p>Was it brave to cling to Aziraphale year after year, millennia after millennia, knowing that it could be the end of them both should someone find out?</p>
<p>Was it brave to check every corner of every room every time he entered, even now that it was over?</p>
<p>Was it brave to stay awake at night rather than facing his metaphorical Demons?</p>
<p>No.</p>
<p>No, not brave.</p>
<p>But maybe he could be. Just this once. Just for now, because Aziraphale needed him to be. Just as Aziraphale has been brave for him these past few days, weeks, months, reaching out over and over again, trying to take down the wall brick by brick.</p>
<p>“I would have gone anywhere with you, angel.”</p>
<p>Aziraphale’s eyes snapped back up to meet Crowley’s. “You did,” he said, “You followed me to the end of the world. Despite the words I said.”</p>
<p>“You didn’t mean them.”</p>
<p>“No.” Aziraphale shook his head. “I didn’t. But still I hurt you.”</p>
<p>Slowly, carefully, Crowley turned his hand and laced their fingers together, gently squeezing Aziraphale’s hand. “I forgive you.”</p>
<p>The Angel smiled at him, squeezing his hand in return. “Do you know,” he started, “When you asked me for the Holy Water that first time, and I said no – and I admit I reacted rather poorly at the time, though you must understand, I was scared, my dear – at any rate, I said no, and we fought and then I didn’t hear from you for nearly a century and I thought –”</p>
<p>“You thought I’d left you,” Crowley filled in the blank, a wave of shame crushing over him as he remembered his extended nap at the time.</p>
<p>“I did.” Aziraphale nodded. “But you came back, Crowley. You pranced into that church, after all those years and all those words and you saved me and you – you saved my books.”</p>
<p><em>Of course I did</em>, Crowley thought distractedly, his mind scrambling to keep up with the narrative, trying to figure out where Aziraphale was going with this, <em>you love your books</em>.</p>
<p>“That’s when I knew,” the Angel concluded, “What we have, my dear, it is precious and it is worth protecting. I only ever wished to protect you.”</p>
<p>“I know you did,” said Crowley, “I know you, angel.” <em>You’re all I know</em>. “’n you were brave,” he added, “When it counted, you were brave.”</p>
<p>Still smiling, Aziraphale leaned closer, his thumb gently running circles over Crowley’s skin, caressing it, keeping it warm. There was something in his eyes, something big and powerful, something Crowley didn’t think he could stand to hear. Not yet. Not –</p>
<p>“Crowley, my dear, I –”</p>
<p>“Don’t,” he quietly cut Aziraphale off, knowing the words that were about to leave the Angel’s lips, “Don’t say it. Not yet. I can’t – I –”</p>
<p>“Then I won’t,” Aziraphale assured him, guiding Crowley’s hand up, up, up, all the way up to his mouth and pressing a kiss to his knuckles, “We’re on our side. And we have all the time in the world, now.”</p>
<p>Crowley’s heart felt too big for his chest, pressing against his ribs, bursting with too many emotions to name as he turned his hand and cradled Aziraphale’s cheek, soft and chubby and perfect, like the rest of him.</p>
<p>“Crowley?”</p>
<p>“Hmm?”</p>
<p>Aziraphale leaned into the touch, tilting his head slightly to press another kiss to the inside of Crowley’s wrist. “What do you say we go to bed?” he asked, “We don’t have to sleep, if you don’t want to,” he added, “But I imagine it would be much more comfortable.”</p>
<p>Crowley could picture it. The two of them, lying side by side, the soft warmth of duvets and blankets and <em>together</em> surrounding them, holding them, lulling them in. Aziraphale would read a book, engrossed by the words and worlds on the pages, and maybe he would card his fingers through Crowley’s hair, or maybe he would simply be there, a steady weight, all round and soft, against Crowley’s sharp edges.</p>
<p>“You sure?”</p>
<p>“I’m sure, my darling.”</p>
<p>Exhaling shakily, Crowley nodded his head and slowly got up with Aziraphale, their hands still linked, as they went inside and upstairs.</p>
<p>And above them the stars kept burning, not knowing and not caring.</p>
<p>And across the village and the fields and valleys, the sea kept crashing against the white cliffs of the English South coast, stretching far and cold and empty, glistening in the pale light of the moon.</p>
<p>And later – much, much later – when the sun had climbed high up the firmament, shining down on the cottage below, half-hidden behind trees and hedges, the Demon Crowley would wake up covered by piles of duvets and blankets, no longer alone. Aziraphale would lie by his side, holding his Demon in his arms, his fingers running through auburn hair, and Crowley would smile as he blinked the sleep from his eyes, leaning closer into the touch, feeling safe.</p>
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